


The Lips You Only Let Me Borrow

by Anyones_Ghost



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: they're legit just banging in the diner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:59:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyones_Ghost/pseuds/Anyones_Ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy’s gaze drops as she lifts the spoon and brings it slowly to the wet parting of her lips, foam coating her tongue as her eyes flicker to watch Angie watching her. </p><p>She can feel her pulse kicking, electricity humming in her fingertips as she lowers the spoon to the counter with a soft metallic clink. Angie’s eyes have taken on a depth, hypnotic, and Peggy raises an arched brow; an invitation, a dare, and the aching static of the calm before the storm is delicious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lips You Only Let Me Borrow

The rain has softened by the time the car roll up; thick, heavy drops giving way to a close, sugar fine mist that dots the bonnet and windows like warm breath on glass. There’s a light still on in the diner, honey warm and glowing in the evening gloom like a heartbeat. Peggy watches the light bleed through the filter of raindrops on the car window, and gathers her bag and hat, gloved hand reaching for the door as Jarvis clears his throat.

  ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Miss Carter?’ His voice is a smile, words hovering, lyrical.

  Peggy turns back to face him and, sure enough, a sly grin is pricking his lips. She can’t fight the smile that she shoots back, wrinkling her nose slightly.

  ‘When it comes to Angie, _Mister_ Jarvis,’ she scolds, ‘I _always_ know what I’m doing.’

  Jarvis lifts his eyes, still smiling as Peggy cracks the door and his hands fix back on the wheel.

  ‘Will I be seeing you later this evening?’ He calls as Peggy ducks out of the car and into the mist, eyes fixed on the diner and her heart popping as she catches Angie’s shadow against the light, moving behind the counter.

  ‘Don’t wait up.’ She replies distractedly, gaze unwavering as she pushes the door closed and misses Jarvis’ final look of foux disapproval.

  The car pulls away behind her, wipers whispering as wheels crawl through shallow puddles. Peggy allows herself a moment in the emptiness of the evening, hovering underneath a streetlamp spilling dirty light, tiny raindrops highlighted like dust through a crack in the curtains. She watches Angie tug the pins from her cap and free it, frozen in place as the waitress shakes out her hair, taking in the curve of her waist, the dip of her back, feeling the hollow of her own stomach heat before finally stepping forward.

  A closed sign is displayed in the glass of the door, but Angie is always open for her – in more ways than one, Peggy muses as the bell alerts her presence, red lips pinched in a secretive smile. Angie’s head pricks up, and as she takes in the woman in the doorway her face creases into her usual warm grin, and it blows Peggy away as it always does. Without saying a word, the agent lets the door click shut behind her before turning and pointedly fixing the lock, glancing back at Angie as she slowly lowers the blind, moving to do the same at the bigger windows. Angie watches her from behind the counter, hands holding her elbows as she feels the beginnings of anticipation flutter in her throat, lip drawn between her teeth as if to fight the smile, fight the feeling that innately claims her whenever Peggy’s around. Satisfied with the security of the blinds, the other woman finally turns towards the counter, drawing her gloves slowly from her fingers.

  ‘And to what do I owe this pleasure?’ Angie pouts.

  ‘Can’t get rid of me that easily, darling,’ Peggy smiles, red lips full, inviting, as she slides onto a stool, piling her things on a vacant seat beside her.

  ‘That so?’ Angie lightly snaps back, still grinning as she turns to make Peggy a drink.

  Peggy pulls her jacket from her shoulders, stretching and enjoying the cracking sensation as she rolls her back. She watches Angie, eyes lidded, drinking in stockinged legs, lithe hips, a tight little ass and she smiles to herself, feeling heat grow between her legs.

  ‘How was work?’ Angie throws over her shoulder, frothing up milk for coffee.

  ‘The usual,’ Peggy mumbles; notes the dimples on the backs of Angie’s knees, ‘Covering for moronic asses that don’t deserve it.’

  Angie laughs, but when she speaks again her voice is colourful and far away as Peggy watches the woman’s hands, her fingers, the curve of her neck, and feels her own lips buzz with want. In truthfulness, the agent’s day had been spent in unbearable frustration. Spurred on from the heat of a particularly pleasant dream, her day had been overwhelmingly tainted by pining, by an insatiable, burning ache that needed, _demanded_ to be relieved, Angie’s face and lips and body spotting Peggy’s vision and haunting her thoughts, severing her concentration and reducing her wit to mush. As Thompson babbled on and coffee cups screamed for refills, files and pin-boards and faces of co-workers smeared into a blur, with Angie glowing against the black of her eyelids, Angie filling her senses, Angie’s thighs on her mind – Angie now placing a cup down in front of her with an eyebrow raised in question.

  ‘Am I boring you?’

  Peggy blinks, slipping out of a fog that had done nothing but serve to remind her of the tension coiling her stomach, of just how wet her undergarments are. Her hands close around the cup and she lightly shakes her head, refocusing.

  ‘No, darling, just…’ She trails as Angie’s eyes meet hers, as she feels her fingers itch. ‘Distracted.’

  ‘That so?’

  Angie cocks a smirk because wasn’t born yesterday; she can read Peggy like a book and right now the woman is desperate, crossing and uncrossing her legs as she starts to stir a spoon in her coffee, Angie’s proximity a conscious weight, and the waitress presses her forearms on the counter, leans forward in promise of what’s to come. Peggy watches Angie’s face, watches the cogs turn in the dizzying reflections of her eyes and she knows her gig is up, the pulse point in her throat thrumming as she dodges Angie’s bait, as she fights to feign indifference.

  ‘So, how was your day?’ Peggy quips, spoon sending ripples round her cup.

  ‘The usual,’ Angie parrots, giggling as Peggy rolls her eyes, ‘Serving moronic asses that don’t deserve it.’

  ‘Alright, I confess,’ Peggy taps the spoon against the lip of the cup, ‘I may not have been fully engaged for the first half of our conversation. But within good reason.’ Her eyes are coy as she tilts forward. ‘I’ve been intolerably distracted all day.’

  ‘Oh?’ Angie presses, matching her distance and Peggy hears blood rush in her ears

  ‘But of course,’ She continues, voice low, dangerously low, ‘Being in front of the object of that distraction hasn’t helped at all.’

  Angie breathes in, feels her heart surge as her knees dip a little. This damn agent can be ridiculously smouldering when the mood takes her, and the waitress feels how close the other woman is, feels the solid presence of the counter, a barrier between them.

 ‘Maybe I could fix that.’ She murmurs, and the smile that claims Peggy’s face is golden.

  The nothing-words fade away with the mounting reality that the space between them has become too much, too far, and the empty air buzzes against their silence, warm eyes regarding each other with levelled tension slowly boiling over, and soft rain caressing the window. Peggy’s gaze drops as she lifts the spoon and brings it slowly to the wet parting of her lips, foam coating her tongue as her eyes flicker to watch Angie watching her. She can feel her pulse kicking, electricity humming in her fingertips as she lowers the spoon to the counter with a soft metallic clink. Angie’s eyes have taken on a depth, hypnotic, and Peggy raises an arched brow; an invitation, a dare, and the aching static of the calm before the storm is delicious.

  It’s a breath, the tap of a finger, the quirk of a lip before the two surge forward as tides and crash together, hands searching and cup knocked clean of attention, coffee sloshing, hot wet liquid dripping over the edge of the counter, unnoticed as they kiss, mouths open and names whispered and it’s like a blessing, the familiar taste of Peggy’s lipstick sweet against Angie’s tongue. Peggy’s fingers card Angie’s hair, pulling free a stray pin as the waitress giggles against her mouth and pushes herself flush against the counter. They kiss til they’re near breathless, Peggy drawing back to commit the mess of her lipstick on Angie’s face to memory. The blood surging through Angie’s veins won’t allow her to wait and she smiles as she dives back in, parting the agent’s lips and sighing softly as she heaves herself up onto the counter, ignoring the mess and moving forward with the aim of straddling Peggy in her seat, of getting her legs tight around that waist and her hands in that hair, but as she slides forward Peggy breaks away.

  ‘No, no,’ Peggy grips her hips, fixing the waitress in front of her, ‘Stay there, darling.’

  Angie blinks, heart kicking as Peggy slowly spreads her legs, hands running up her thighs at a pace that’s maddening, raising her the skirt of her dress up, up, til it’s bunched about her hips, til she can feel the cool touch of the countertop against the skin uncovered by her stockings and she feels wet heat spark between her legs. Peggy’s fingers make slow, deliberate work of Angie’s garters, and the agent can feel the effect, can feel the woman’s gaze, hot against her neck as she shucks Angie’s shoes and rolls her stockings off. She shifts forward in the stool, hands ghosting skin that’s finally bare and she hears Angie exhale shakily as she leans forward and plants a tiny kiss, lipstick marking a milky inner thigh and Peggy’s gaze flicks to meet Angie’s.

  ‘I want you,’ She purrs, lips close to skin, and Angie shivers, hips rolling forward.

  ‘Then be my guest, English,’ She groans, ‘Just _hurry up_.’

  Peggy’s eyes glint, and Angie can feel the agent smile against her thigh as she slowly plants kisses up and down her legs, peppering pale skin with lipstick stains, the waitress trembling as the woman gets closer to the throbbing between her thighs. Peggy breathes in as her lips press gently against the front of Angie’s underwear, smearing lipstick across the wet fabric, and the waitress gasps at the fleeting friction. Peggy’s hands rub circles into Angie’s hip, her right one moving across to press against Angie, and the woman squirms as the agent’s fingers pluck the edge of her underwear.

  ‘Pegs,’ Angie’s voice is shakey, ‘Nails.’

  Peggy pauses, raising a brow in confusion before casting a glance over long cherry-red fingernails, bunched against the fabric separating her from the source of her maddening frustration.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ She murmurs, kissing Angie’s knee as moves her hand away, busying herself with the task of drawing down the waitress’s underwear as the woman raises her hips; Peggy allows them to drop unceremoniously onto the wildly patterned floor.

  ‘I hope you’re hungry, English.’ Angie grins down at her.

  Peggy rolls her eyes, but all the same she has to pause to absorb the image of Angie, wet and wanting and spread on the counter, lips cocked in a smile and chest rising and falling as she draws rapid breath, her eyes dark and fixed on the agent and it’s enough to push Peggy over the edge. She growls, deep and feral in her throat as she grips Angie’s hips, drawing the woman closer and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the skin just beside her wetness, allowing her breath to feather over Angie, who moans in frustration as Peggy moves to kiss the skin on other side of her cunt, dragging her tongue slowly around the boarder of her lips.

  ‘English,’ the waitress groans, ‘You’re _killin_ me.’

  Peggy grins at that, finally opening her mouth to run her tongue against Angie, the wet taste sharply familiar, addictive, _hers_ , and the waitress trembles, thin fingers carding into Peggy’s hair. Peggy can’t help but moan herself as Angie’s grip tightens against her scalp, clutching shakily when she draws the woman’s clit between her lips and sucks, feeling Angie’s thighs quiver against the grip of her hands. Angie’s voice wavers, and Peggy takes her in in reverence, as if Angie is the holiest thing to pass her lips – and there’s a strong chance she just might be. She’s beautiful like this, utterly beautiful, honest and bare and gripping Peggy as though she can anchor her, save her from floating, from drowning, and as the agent moves lower, presses her tongue past Angie’s entrance, the way the woman chokes out Peggy’s name is filthy, holy.

  Angie rises, pushes back against Peggy’s mouth as the woman withdraws her tongue and circles back, enveloping the waitress’s clit, keeping her dark eyes lifted, not wanting to look away, not wanting break her gaze from Angie as she throws her head back, face turned skyward and a hand ghosting to her trembling lips, teeth sinking into a knuckle as her breath spills out in stutters; a sign that she’s close and it makes Peggy throb.

  Angie cants her hips as Peggy works her tongue against her cunt, coaxing her, moulding her, until finally the woman’s spine curves in a crashing crescendo, her voice raw as her hand smothers a call of Peggy’s name, thigh muscles twitching as the agent plants one final, firm kiss against her before straightening up to gaze over the mess she’s created. Angie’s face is flushed, her hair tousled and when she draws her knuckle from her mouth a silver thread of spit follows, broken as the waitress shakily gasps for breath.

  Peggy smiles as she licks her lips, and Angie moans lowly, vision still speckled as she comes down, leaning forward to taste herself on the woman’s mouth. Peggy kisses her back, gently, granting the waitress time to relax; granting herself time to bathe in Angie’s gorgeous postcoital glow, and when the woman draws back Peggy is surprised to see her eyes are dark, alert.

  Wordlessly, Angie slips down from the counter, bare feet slapping against the floor, bracketed in by Peggy’s glorious thighs. The agent feels her breathing slow, the intensity of Angie’s eyes drawing her in, making her weak, and when the woman leans in for a kiss Peggy let’s her take over, lets Angie’s lips travel the expanse of her throat, lets Angie’s fingers push apart the buttons of her blouse, lets Angie press hot, wet kisses across her clothed breasts as her breath catches in her throat.

  ‘Angie,’ She manages to murmur, stomach flipping and cunt tingling as the woman drops between her legs.

  She feels warm lips, then light teeth dragging against the thin layer of her stockings, the slight pressure incredible as Angie mouths her way up the agent’s leg, roughly pushing Peggy’s skirt, tongue running up her thigh, across the bare band of skin as she kisses up, up, until her nose is pressed against the wetness of Peggy’s underwear, and the woman above her is breathing in short sharp pants of anticipation.

  Angie moves her mouth against Peggy, sucking her clit through the fabric and the friction is almost too much, the agent’s hands skittering until her fingers find traction in Angie’s hair, carding through the messy waves as the woman’s eyes watch her, guard her, drink her in. There’s a hunger there, a deepness in Angie’s dilated pupils that hammers Peggy’s heart against her chest. As the waitress’s hands grip her thighs, as her mouth opens and closes around Peggy’s wetness, teasing her cunt through the material of her underwear, the agent swallow her voice, moans short and stuttering as Angie works against her.

  She feels Angie’s hand move, feels her fingers break the boarder of her undergarments and press tentative circles around her entrance; Peggy blesses the waitress’s short nails as she feels an overwhelming pressure build, coil round inside her like fire as Angie mouths her cunt and two fingers gently curl into her, her mind slipping, foggy with lust and want and something that just might be love, chest heaving and skin pricking, fraught with energy and shaking with need.

  Angie sucks the wetness of Peggy’s underwear, nimble fingers twisting and caressing the spot that has the usually composed agent keening and leaking into her hand, voice cracking and cherry-red nails tugging against her scalp and Angie hums, proud at the state she’s driven Peggy to, the state she alone gets to see; a sight that’s just for her. Rubbing circles with her fingers and pressing softly with her lips, Angie watches as Peggy arches, as her shoulders and breasts quiver, as her own name spills from the woman’s lips like a mantra.

  And Peggy feels it rising, an impending wave eclipsing her vision into pin-holed starlight before coursing freely through her, her legs trembling and her cunt closing around Angie’s fingers and she draws a hand away to steady herself on the counter, her heart battering her bones like a bird and her blood rushing like a storm. Angie watches, mesmerised, feels her heart swell in her chest before gently removing her fingers, planting soft tiny kisses against Peggy’s stockinged thighs as the agent looks down at her, her skin sweat-slick and glistening, like bright sunlight on a river. Angie slowly eases herself up, her calves pinching in complaint, and Peggy draws her to her, folds her in her arms and presses sweet kisses against her neck as they let soft silence hold them, safe; at peace, at home.

  ‘English,’ Angie breathes finally, ‘That was swell and all but these hands need washing.’

  Peggy laughs lightly. ‘Of course, darling.’

  She lets her go, bit by bit, not willing to be without the warmth of her arms just yet. She kisses Angie’s nose, her lips, as the waitress rolls her eyes and smiles helplessly. Angie moves away, sheepishly bundling up the clothes strewn across the floor and right-ending the cup as she lifts the hatch in the counter. Peggy watches her, groggily amused.

  ‘Not up to vaulting over?’ She teases, and Angie shrugs as she turns the tap at the sink.

  ‘I would, but I’m not sure my legs work right anymore,’ She soaps up, rubbing her nails on her palms as she casts a glance at the beaming agent, ‘Thanks to a certain _somebody_.’

  ‘Most welcome, darling.’ Peggy purrs as Angie dries her hands on her skirt, turning back to dab up the spill.

  ‘Can I get you anythin, sugar?’ She chirps, reaching forward to steal a kiss. ‘Or are you sweet enough?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Peggy stretches out against the counter; cat-like, blissful, still floating in the comedown as her pulse slows, and she sleepily follows the hem of Angie’s skirt as the waitress turns, bare skin shimmering against the cloth. ‘Get me a big slice of cherry pie.’

  Angie laughs as she glances back at the glowing woman grinning at her from the counter, elbows propped up, hair mussed, and lipstick all kissed away, drying against the skin of her own thighs. She feels her heart soften as she reaches for a plate, lightly shaking her head as she grins back at Peggy.

 ‘Ain’t nothin’ cherry about you, English.’

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
